


The Hellish Cycle

by Keytrastar



Category: Bendy and the Ink Machine
Genre: Abuse, Aftermath of Torture, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Betrayal, But He Gets Better, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fluff, Good Guy Bendy (Bendy and the Ink Machine), Henry is tired, Henry wants to go home, Homesickness, Hurt/Comfort, Joey is a jerk, Mentioned at least - Freeform, Not as unpleasant as it sounds I swear, Psychological Torture, Sammy and the others get the help they need, Time Loop, Torture, Well at first he's pretty bad, bad language
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-13
Updated: 2019-08-13
Packaged: 2020-08-29 20:01:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20235448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Keytrastar/pseuds/Keytrastar
Summary: Henry lost count of how many times he’s done this. Stopped keeping track after he’d reached the lucky hundred. What was the point anyway? It wasn’t like anything was going to change. He was trapped in an endless time loop with no escape, no matter what he tried, no matter what he did.





	The Hellish Cycle

Henry lost count of how many times he’s done this. Stopped keeping track after he’d reached the lucky hundred. What was the point anyway? It wasn’t like anything was going to change. He was trapped in an endless time loop with no escape, no matter what he tried, no matter what he did. Everything played out the same in the end and the same sight met him every time he played the Last Reel. Bendy reaching out for him, deadly claws poised and ready, Bendy turning away, his attention dragged towards the flashing screens, Bendy snarling furiously in his face before disappearing in a flash of golden, blissful sunlight. And then he would be back in the familiar apartment, listening to a well-rehearsed speech he’s by now memorized word for word. After a few minutes of standing there, paralyzed, unable to so much as glare much less give Joey a good punch in the face he’d be back in the studio, the stifling smell of dust and rotting wood filling his nostrils.

_“All right, Joey. I’m here. Let’s see if we can find what you wanted me to see..”_

No matter how many times he tried to open the door, pulling on the handle, rushing at it at full-speed in a desperate hope to break it off it’s hinges, it wouldn’t budge an inch. Eventually he gave up on trying to open it, just like he’d given up on many other things around this studio. It was all pointless anyway..

Henry found himself spending time in the abandoned breakroom, playing darts, drinking hot coffee he’d somehow managed to find somewhere in back, skimming through the _Illusion of Living_. There were no hints in the book to help him break the cycle, it was merely a collection of Joey’s ludicrous and grand ideas. Including his plans of bringing his cartoon characters to life. Well, he’s succeeded there at least. And still somehow managed to screw it up. Henry gave a bitter chuckle at that thought.

Setting the book aside, he rose heavily from the chair, ignoring the way it creaked in protest noisily. Nothing would attack him here, not at this stage, besides, few sounds could scare him now. He didn’t so much as twitch when the board fell from the ceiling, didn’t even glance at the pedestals as he walked into the ‘sacrifice’ room, didn’t flinch as he turned around the corner only to see the creepy Bendy cut-out propped up in the middle of the corridor, the scripted lines falling from his reluctant tongue stiffly and almost emotionlessly.

_“Huh? Who put this here?”_

Henry already knew the perpetrator. Boris, trying to warn him, trying to tell him how evil Bendy was and not to turn on the machine. Just like the script told him to do. Not that it would change anything, he couldn’t leave anyway.

He moved around the studio almost on autopilot, already knowing all the possible places for the necessary items to be at. His pace was relaxed, unhurried and almost lazy as he did so. When he reached his former desk to pick up the ink bottle, he sat there for several minutes, staring forlornly at the first Bendy sketch he’d ever drawn. The one Joey rejected, right up until the moment Henry turned his back on the studio. Typical Joey.

_“His dreams, MY effort!”_

Before, the mere thought of Joey would cause the old rage to resurface. Henry would either grit his teeth or punch a wall, depending on how pissed off he was feeling. Now though it only brought weariness. He was too tired to be angry anymore.

Picking up the pencil, he twirled it thoughtfully before pulling out a fresh piece of paper, placing it on the desk before him. His arm moved quickly over the pristine white surface, images appearing from beneath quick practiced movements. Corrupt Alice, otherwise known as Susie Campbell, standing and gloating from behind a glass window. Boris laying out the cards upon the table back in the safe house. A Lost One, curled in on himself and sobbing from behind metal bars. The Projectionist stalking around the flooded lower levels. Ink Bendy slamming headfirst into a wall and realizing he could not pass through. The last one was a joke, it never happened of course, but it made Henry smile anyway. Several hours passed with him sketching, falling back into familiar patterns as he reminisced on the good old days. Before the war. Before Joey’s betrayal.

At some point Henry fell asleep, head dropping to rest against the wooden surface of the desk, all tension bleeding from his form as he slept. For once his dreams were pleasant, void of screams and sounds of gunshots or of a crooked cartoonish grin watching him from the inky shadows. He dreamed of his home, of Linda and of his young daughter. They were alive, they were happy and they were smiling. He walked towards them and met his little girl half way as she threw herself into his arms, laughing joyously. Henry hugged her close, fighting back the tears as the warmth of her little body pressed up against his. How long has it been since he’d last hugged her? Was she grown up now? Did she remember him? Henry pulled back, eyes drinking in her sweet round face. His daughter merely grinned before pushing off his chest and running back inside the house, presumably to fetch her latest drawing to proudly show him. Just like she always did.

When he rose to his feet, Linda was there, taking him by the arm, her long hair spilling over his left shoulder in dark auburn waves, her beautiful green eyes peering up at him from behind dark eyelashes. A soft smile stretched across his face, he didn’t even try to hide it as she lead him towards their small but perfect house. Henry leaned down, his right hand cupping the soft curve of her cheek and Linda’s face tilted up to peer at him. The kiss was soft and sweet and ended far too soon for his liking. She said something, her voice light and jocular. No matter how much he strained his ears, he could not hear what she was saying. With one last smile, she disappeared within the house and Henry jolted awake.

Awareness came slowly. The first thing he was aware of was the cold feeling of some sort of liquid dripping down his face. The second – of the intense ache building up in his back from the uncomfortable position he’d fallen asleep in. A soft groan escaped his lips as he slowly sat up, rubbing a hand over his still closed eyes before he fully registered the sensation of what was unmistakably ink trickling down his hands. The hell? His eyes shot open and he immediately regretted it as he looked up to identify the source. His mouth went dry at the terrifying sight.

Bendy loomed over him, crooked smile twitching in an insane manner like it always did, pitch blank ink dripping off his body in rivulets. The ink demon didn’t seem to be looking at him though. No. His attention was directed elsewhere. _The drawings_, Henry realized. A deep rumble escaped the demon’s narrow chest as he reached out with his human sized hand, carefully tracing the last picture Henry had drawn before succumbing to sleep. Linda’s portrait.

The horned head turned towards him, cartoonish grin drooping at the corners, expression almost.. questioning?

Henry turned back to the portrait, heart clenching almost painfully in his chest. “My wife, Linda”, he said, voice still rough from sleep as he leaned back tiredly in the uncomfortable wooden chair. Bendy didn’t say anything, of course he didn’t. Henry wasn’t even sure he could speak even if he really wanted to.

Something heavy collided painfully against the side of his chest, sending him flying towards the floor. He landed painfully, the fall pushing the air out of his lungs. Bendy was upon him before Henry could gather his bearings. His clawed hand curled around his throat as he gasped for air, effectively crushing it.

Henry woke at the door, his drawings gone and a message scrawled messily over one corridor wall, letters large and sharp edged.

** _BE QUICKER_ **

Well, fuck you too then.

=.=.=.=.=.=.=.=

So it would seem that Bendy was aware of the time loop. And was also a jealous, impatient ass. Good to know.

Henry waded slowly through the waist-deep ink, unable to stop the shivering that wracked his whole body as the icy cold liquid seeped into his clothes, staining them all over again. Some part of him supposed that he should be grateful that they were renewed every time he spawned back at the entrance on the first level. He could at least spend a few hours feeling clean and fresh. Before the hell started all over again of course.

The ink receded the moment Henry turned the valve handle, grunting from effort all the while. The axe lay where it always did and he picked it up, taking comfort from its familiar weight in his hand. Henry looked up at the wall, reading the phrase he’d seen so many times that he knew it by heart.

** _The creator lied to us_ **

Dipping his fingers into an ink puddle that had formed beneath one of the many leaking pipes, he walked over to the sign, writing over it.

** _Joey lied to us_ **

And Henry should have been smarter. Really, what had he expected when he received that godforsaken letter? That Joey would apologize? That he’d actually regret what he’d done? That he’d realized that it were his actions and his attitude that had pushed his friend away? No. Henry should’ve known that Joey was too entitled, too self-centered to every take blame for anything that went wrong in his life. Bankruptcy and disgrace wouldn’t change him. Joey would always blame anyone but himself.

Henry had tried, really he did. Tried to push his once friend to be a better boss, a better friend and person. But in the end, when he had to choose between his family and the studio, he had had to admit defeat. He’d chosen his wife and daughter over Joey and the poison his presence spread and left without looking back. And for thirty years he’d lived like that, free of the monster his friend had become.

A moment of weakness, a moment of blind hope.. cost him everything.

His hand fell back to his side as he stepped away from the wall and pitch black words scrawled over it. This was his punishment, might as well deal with it.

The small room was the same as well, no surprise there, he’d stopped hoping that something, anything, would change on the next run. Same pentagram, same coffins propped against the walls, same amount of candles, same images flashing through his mind. Images of when he’d been sacrificed to the ink machine. This was a never ending cycle, one that he would never escape. The thought left a bitter taste in his mouth.

_“Oh, my head.. What happened?”_

He already knew what happened, but the scripted words left his mouth anyway, against his will. Sighing heavily, he grabbed his axe as he shakily pulled himself up from the floor, stumbling and steadying himself with a nearby chair so as not to fall over again. Might as well press on. “Maybe I’ll finally find a way to break this accursed time loop this time around”, he muttered to himself as he carefully made his way over to the barricaded door.

Henry knew he was lying to himself even before those words left his lips.

=.=.=.=.=.=.=.=

Sammy ignored him when he tried to yell up at him from where he was standing on the stage, surrounded by musical instruments. Henry had tried everything to provoke a response, even going so far as to start banging on the drums and playing on the few instruments he at least had a vague idea about how to play on. He was no musician, he was an animator, but the way things were going he had all the time in the world to learn.

When he looked back at the balcony, the former music director was gone. “Probably went to fetch that dustpan”, Henry thought bitterly, rubbing at the spot on the back of his head where he would soon feel a painful strike. He’d tried walking backwards through the Music Department hall once and Sammy had still ambushed him. How he managed that, Henry did not know. Joey’s doing probably. Couldn’t afford Henry escaping after all.

Jack Fain wasn’t that difficult to beat, he did it almost automatically now. At first he’d felt bad, tried to speak to the ink creature Jack had become, but it was all for naught. In the end Fain would be crushed no matter how terrible he felt about it and Henry would leave with the valve he needed.

Perhaps it was out of boredom, or perhaps he was finally going crazy, but Henry approached the writing on the wall behind the fallen pallet, repeating the same process he’d done before the coffin room. Only this time he wrote something else.

** _I don’t sing with psychos_ **

A harmless joke, one that brightened the hopeless situation he found himself in for a few moments. After all, it wasn’t like anybody would read it and even if they did, he doubted they’d care. So, he retraced his steps, going around the music department, leaving messages that ranged from hopeless to completely silly. Susie Campbell’s audio log always made him sad even when he didn’t play it. Just another young, hopeful and naïve person that had fallen victim to Joey’s schemes. Sammy’s audio logs sometimes amused him, sometimes made him experience sympathy for the overworked man. After all, he’d experienced similar treatment when he still worked at the studio and he knew the exhaustion and irritation all too well. Most of the times however he felt a sort of vindictive joy, maybe because Sammy never failed to knock him out and tie him up as an offering for his ‘lord’. Ah, well.

He’d just finished writing ‘Ouch!’ on the floor when Sammy finally caught up to him and knocked him out.

Henry woke up tied up, his head spinning and with blood dripping down his temple, just like always. He couldn’t bother paying attention when the former music director started up his monologue, much too tired to deal with the other’s theatrics. Before it had amused him, now it was just an annoyance. Eventually, Sammy finished retreating into the adjacent room where he would soon be attacked by the same creature he preached too. Some part of Henry pitied him, he’d been on the receiving end of those razor sharp claws more than once himself after all, but no matter how much he banged on the door or tried to break it with his axe, nothing worked. He couldn’t help Sammy even if he wanted too, rescuing him just went against the story Joey was trying to tell.

When he reached the pool from which Bendy would soon spring and chase him, Henry stopped, looking thoughtfully at the pitch black ink. A thought came to him suddenly, an insane, crazy one that would probably just lead to his death and spawn him back at the main entrance, but one he knew he was going to try nevertheless. He was still going to die or respawn anyway, what could it hurt to try something different?

Turning on his heal, he walked backwards into the flooded room. Henry hadn’t even realized he’d shut his eyes and waited with baited breath until several minutes passed in silence. The ink demon did not appear. There was no characteristic splash that came with Bendy jumping out to chase him, no rasping growl that made the hair on the back of his neck to stand on end. Instead, there was silence. Either Bendy really wasn’t here, or he was just watching Henry make a fool of himself for the hell of it.

Carefully so as not to stumble, Henry walked backwards to the far wall, to the door. Only at this close proximity to it did he hear the whistling coming from behind it. Interesting. Excitement coursed through him even though he tried to stop it. His ink stained hand reached for the door handle, trying to open the door – Except nothing happened. The door wouldn’t budge. His axe had already broken with the last board he cut down to clear his path. Gritting his teeth and refusing to admit defeat so easily, he pushed against it, rushed at it, tried to break it open. Nothing worked, the whistling stopped.

Despair engulfed him the moment he realized he was not going anywhere, that this door was a false hope. Somewhere, Joey was laughing at him. Resigned, he waded through the ink back toward the hallway, hearing the characteristic splash accompanied by a growl that reverberated through the very walls of the forgotten studio.

He didn’t need more incentive to start running.

The door shut behind him like it always did, the ink demon crashing against it, claws raking heavily against the wood. Only this time it seemed.. halfhearted. Maybe Henry really _was _crazy, imagining things. Bendy never hesitated to kill him, in fact he seemed to enjoy it immensely despite seeming fully aware of the time loop they were both trapped inside. Could it be that the demon was finally becoming tired? No, that couldn’t be right. Finding creative ways to kill him was Bendy’s number one entertainment.

Whatever, he was far too exhausted to deal with this anyway..

=.=.=.=.=.=.=.=

The hours spent within the safe house were perhaps the most peaceful ones Henry got to have while trapped within the cartoon studio. In here time didn’t seem to exist, the ink demon couldn’t touch him and he could allow himself to forget the hopeless situation he found himself in. Cooking for Boris, playing cards, catching up on some extra sleep and sketching – those were one of the many things Henry could distract himself with before ultimately heading out to continue the hellish cycle. He couldn’t stay here forever even if he wanted to. Partly because he was afraid of Bendy showing up like he did on the first level, partly because he became bored and wondered what kind of havoc he could wreak outside just for the hell of it.

The image on the wall always confused him. A picture vaguely resembling Bendy, but made of jumbled body parts of other characters. Sometimes Henry wondered if it was a reflection of Boris’ own mind, hopelessly confused and desperately trying to sort things out. Occasionally he also wondered if Boris was actually Wally Franks. It wouldn’t be that much of a stretch considering the wolves’ behavior. But he would immediately dismiss the idea once he remembered how Boris dissolved every time after he had been forced to kill him. Susie Campbell did not melt away into a puddle of ink. Nor did Norman, or Sammy, or Bertrum to name a few. They were real people and when they died, their bodies were left behind.

Wally Franks had managed to escape Joey’s grasp along with Allison and Tom Connor and for that at least, Henry was grateful. Enough people had suffered at his old friend’s hands as it were.

When had Joey become a monster? At what point in time did he change? Was it after their first success with Bendy or was it way before that? What signs did Henry miss that his friend was no longer there? No matter how much he wracked his head, he could not remember, the memories of his life before the nightmarish cycle slipping through his fingers like water. His mind was becoming confused, his recollections of the real world becoming more and more distant.

Perhaps Joey had always been a snake waiting to strike, perhaps not. Maybe it _was_ success that had helped bring the true Joey’s character to light. Henry found that he no longer cared. All he wanted was to go home, to see his wife and daughter again and to punch Drew in the face as an added bonus. But those things would never happen, would they? He’d always be trapped, unable to see his child enter adulthood and start a family of her own, unable to grow old with his wife and eventually die.

It didn’t take him a long time to figure out that he stopped aging. After a few times around he realized that he did not feel any different, any weaker. A few looks in the scattered mirrors he could find proved that his hair stopped graying. Meaning that he could not die of age even. He’d forever be stuck in the studio and even if he did die using other means he would always respawn by either the entrance or one of the Bendy statues that were nearby.

Thanks, Joey.

With a heavy sigh, Henry retrieved the lever he needed to get out and opened the door, stepping over the threshold and into the darkness and ink stained corridors, Boris following close behind him. He always did, no matter what Henry did to keep him from coming along. No amount of convincing or even telling the truth could dissuade the wolf from following after the former animator. It wasn’t like said animator hadn’t tried to lock him in on several occasions when reasoning failed to have any sort of effect on him. Boris would just met him later on, expression questioning and confused.

Nothing Henry ever did could save the poor wolf from his fate.

_I’m sorry, Buddy…_

=.=.=.=.=.=.=.=

Alice was monologuing again.

Henry lasted all of five seconds before boredom prevailed and he was forced to direct his attention elsewhere. Whacking some of the barrels caused ink to spew in his face and though normally he’d be disgusted, this time he was elated. Finally, something he could use to pass the time while Susie continued her little speech. He didn’t feel sorry for the ink creature strapped to the wooden slab, not really. Henry had been killed too many times by those assholes to be able to muster any sort of sympathy.

Alice didn’t even notice when he knelt down on the floor to write out the words. He doubted she would’ve said anything even if she had. It would’ve gone against the script after all and as far as he knew, only he and Bendy could do pretty much anything they wanted around here.

Henry left the room the moment she fell silent.

Alice’s task were always tedious and in some cases, like destroying the Bendy cutouts, petty. Henry fulfilled them at his own pace, more focused on exploring the studio rather than doing what the angel asked him to do. Her threats fell on deaf ears. She wouldn’t leave her little hideout to go after him. Never did.

The studio remained unchanged no matter how many times he looked for anything out of place. At this point Henry thought he should’ve just accepted his fate. But for some reason he couldn’t. He had to get back home and no matter how many disappointments he faced, he would never stop trying.

Bendy ambushed him the moment the last cutout shattered beneath his axe.

Fortunately, Henry was close enough to a Little Miracle Station to hide quickly enough. Unfortunately, Bendy was also near enough to see him shut the door. And though he could not break it open, being a demon and obeying the cartoon rules of the studio, that did not mean that he couldn’t hang around as long as he wanted. Henry cursed under his breath and there was a low gurgling sound as Bendy’s shoulders shook, crooked smile twitching even more than it usually did. If Henry didn’t know better, he’d say that the fucker was laughing at him.

“Not funny”, he grumbled, making himself as comfortable as he possibly could in the small confined space. A low rumble was his only answer as Bendy settled on the ground, mismatched legs crossed, eyeless face fixed firmly on his hiding spot. The demon seemed almost.. giddy. Cocky bastard.

Well, if Bendy really wanted to play the waiting game, fine. Henry had worked with Joey for over a year. He was pretty confident that he had far more patience than the monstrous inky creature currently doodling what looked like a pentagram on the floor and gurgling happily.

Two could play the game.

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be a oneshot, but I got carried away. So, I decided to break this up into several chapters.


End file.
